Superficial
by AmiRide
Summary: When Maya falls prey to an accident, her sister Max has to replace her as a world-famous model. Hair, clothes, makeup, cameras...it's a lot for Max to take in in a few days, but luckily for Maya, she's quick, and they're identical. But how long can they keep the charade up? What if someone finds out? It doesn't make things easier that Max is falling for her co-worker, Fang...FAX
1. Prologue

**I was planning on saving this for later, but I just couldn't resist. Enjoy!**

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She strode towards the exit of the building, her blond hair swishing attractively on her black suede jacket. She threw a wink at the cute seventeen-year old behind the desk. He blushed. She smirked.

She walked out onto the street, attracting stares as she swayed her hips and flipped her hair, natural habits that she didn't even notice anymore.

Yup, she was good-looking. And she knew it. Life was good.

As she turned on the corner of Times Square, she saw a gargantuan billboard, filling the entire side of a skyscraper, of herself, wearing skinny black jeans, a suede jacket, and sunglasses perched on top her her head. Exactly what she was wearing now. She grinned at it, and wiggled her fingers at the people who were evidently trying to puzzle out the obvious similarity between the billboard and her.

As she passed the supermarket, she saw a guy emerging with a huge jar of pickles. She suddenly had an enormous craving for pickles that almost propelled her to the man to pluck the jar right out of his hands.

That was weird. She didn't even like pickles.

She shook off the odd presentiment she was getting and instead focused on the click of her brand-new heeled boots against the concrete, a sound as satisfying as the crinkle of paper in shopping bags.

Her stomach churned oddly. She ignored it and started calculating how many of the new Vuitton scarves that were all the rage nowadays she could buy with her latest paycheck.

She turned the key in the lock to her apartment and headed straight for the kitchen, something she normally never did. She had her weight to think about, after all. But today, or at least as of two seconds ago, she was ravenous. And it was almost time for her monthly binge; why not have it now? She wouldn't be shooting again for at least another week, and she hadn't been so hungry since Tess' brunch, where she had been talking to the CFO of Vogue right in front of a platter full of crab cakes and hadn't been able to eat a single one.

She decide that a grilled cheese sandwich was just what she needed. Then she almost laughed at herself. A grilled cheese sandwich for her monthly binge? No way. She needed a grilled cheese and onion sandwich. Normally, the mere thought of that would have made her queasy, but now, for some reason, she wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything.

She took out the ingredients and stuck them together messily in a cheese bun, which she had just decided would complete the sandwich perfectly. She plugged in the panini machine, but her fingers moved to drop the sandwich into the deep-frier instead. As soon as it had left her fingers she realized that it was exactly the right thing to do. Her mouth involuntarily watered as she thought of her soon-to-be delicacy. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of fried cheese, onion, and cheese bread as it flew down her windpipe. Then, just as quickly, bile rose in her throat and flooded her mouth. What had she been thinking? How could she make herself something as disgusting as a fried cheese-and-onion sandwich, and, even worse, waste her monthly binge on it? She barely made it to the bathroom before her sick splattered in the toilet bowl. She vomited everything she had consumed that morning, which was half a PopTart and a couple of breath mints. Then, when the tiny quantity of food in her stomach was gone, she dry heaved, her spit mixing in with the toilet water and her vomit in some sort of gross, pinkish-green cocktail. It looked like a teddy bear had flown down, pooped in her toilet, and then swooped away, leaving her leaning against the toilet bowl with the tip of her hair touching the water.

Finally, when she had finished retching, she flushed the toilet, rinsed her mouth, and collapsed on the lid of the toilet, her head in her hands. Then it came again-that overwhelming desire for pickles, so strong that she actually had to grip the seat of the toilet to keep it in check.

What was happening to her? Was it the cigarette she had accepted from Sam earlier in the week? She knew she shouldn't have taken it. She mentally slapped herself.

Then, some nasty, callous sting somewhere in the pit of her stomach brought her eyes to her watch. It was 10:56 AM.

It took a moment for the realization to reach her numbed brain. And when it got there, it slapped her hard in the face.

She scrambled to her feet and stumbled toward her cabinets, her boots knocking some of her many conditioners astray in the process. Her fingers fumbled around in the cupboard before she found what she needed. She hoped to hell it wouldn't happen, but that didn't mean she wasn't stupid, either. She was prepared.

She approached the toilet again and squatted on it, getting her hand unpleasantly wet, before washing her hands and waiting anxiously.

She stared at the little green tab, the one thing that she had never given much thought to before but now controlled her fate.

It popped up.

Positive.

She slumped to the floor, her hand still clutching the tiny stick. She had the unpleasant feeling of a hangover, even though she hadn't drunk anything last night because of her shooting this morning.

Not that she would be doing any photo shoots now.

Because Maya Ride had sworn that the day she had a baby was the day her modeling career ended.

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**So? Love it? Hate it? Appreciate it? Tell me in a review!**

**Also, if you didn't review my latest chapter of "A Maxerella Story," I hope you get Crocs for Christmas.**

**Also, go read "Maya-Haters Unite!" by Renee 135, because we co-wrote it and it's a great story.**

**See you all for the next update!**

**Here is a special cat for you, just because I am random and have been eating sugar:**

** (^._.^)**

**( ) This is Pablo and he shall be accompanying us on our Fanfiction journeys from now on.**

**LOVE YOU!**

**~Ami****


	2. Chapter 1

**Thanks to all who reviewed, especially GirlRebel (and her cousin), because you are rock stars and I love you guys.**

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She'd been staring at the little stick for hours. Maybe even days, years. Judging from the dying light streaming in from her large window, it was late evening, and she'd done nothing but stare at the stupid twig all day.

She spent such a long time not comprehending how it had happened, how she could have been so careless, so stupid. Her head spun, but her eyes never strayed from the stick, options and remedies and all sorts of ideas racing each other in her head. She didn't understand how she could fix her situation. She was thoroughly opposed to abortion, and besides, she hated to think what it would do to her figure, let alone what the tabloids would have to say about it. But obviously she couldn't keep the child. What about her career? What would her boss say if she showed up and started throwing up everywhere? If she couldn't fit into the clothes she was supposed to be modeling for?

She'd had a strange urge to cry, and had shed so many tears that her eyes felt tired.

She'd considered, for a fleeting moment, just resigning right there and then.

Throughout the day, she'd considered different options and had come up blank. How to handle her career? What to do with the baby? How was she supposed to cover this up? This was a huge mess. A huge mess. She wanted to tear herself up, to claw at the infernal being inside of her, to get rid of it forever.

It was only when the sun began to sink into the harbor and a chill began to creep over the room like the shadows that were edging their way closer to her that Maya thought of something she'd thought she'd long forgotten.

Maya dropped the pregnancy test. Her fingers trembled involuntarily, and her other hand closed around them to stop the shivering?

How hadn't she thought of it before? Hope rose in her body, and she started to come back to herself, little by little, and then stopped as she realized she had no place to start. Where could Maya find her? Was she even in the city? Would she be cut out for this? What if she wasn't the same? What if she had changed?

Stumbling over her boots and the contents of the medicine cabinet, which had spilled around her, Maya made her way clumsily to her room and tore open her dresser drawer, knocking over a glass of water in her haste. It shattered against the marble floor and the water seeped into the nearby carpet.

She found what she was looking for and greedily, almost hungrily, tugged open a sliver envelope. She cast aside the Christmas card inside of it as her eyes scanned over the address on the envelope. Then, as an afterthought, she cast a cursory glance at the card on the floor and noted with approval that the young woman on it was still as blond, still sporting a white smile, still beautiful. She kicked the card aside and stuffed the envelope in her pocket.

It was high time Maya paid a visit to her sister.

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When you're a young, inexperienced journalist and it's 10: 24 PM, you're not really expecting a lot of visitors.

That was why when the doorbell rang, I bolted upright in my bed, scaring Total, who fell off and started barking.

"Down, boy," I whispered, nudging him with my slippered foot. I'd just moved into this apartment complex, and had heard more than enough stories of well-to-do men and woman being evicted because they made too much noise from the lady down the hall."No, Total. It's raining outside." I nudged my dog with my slipper, and he let out a pathetic whimper and turned his back on me. I rolled my eyes.

I plodded out of bed, scuffling my slippers against the marble floor—marble! Imagine living your whole life in a tiny house, sharing a room with your sister and having to leave your shoes on in the house so your feet don't get grimy, only to wind up living in an apartment that had _marble_ floors. Yet another luxury I'd probably never get used to. Total trotted behind me, glaring suspiciously at the door as if he could sense some evil presence behind it.

_It's weird for someone to be visiting someone else at ten-thirty at night,_ I thought as I made my way across the kitchen to the front door_. Maybe they're at the wrong house. Maybe it's that laptop cover I ordered off of Amazon and they delivered it early._

Total growled.

I was expecting to see mud on my carpet, and water, and slush, remainders of the sludge my boots had tracked in when I got home. I was not expecting to see all of that on a person. And I definitely was not expecting that person to be an exact replica of me, identical down to the last freckle. Tall, blond, and a bad attitude, though she looked more miserable than sassy right now: Maya Ride, standing on my doorstep and looking more pathetic than I'd ever seen her.

Most people don't open their front doors to find a sister they haven't seen in about five years, muddying up their doorstep and looking as if they could burst into tears at a moment's notice.

It wasn't that I hadn't seen her at all, either. I mean, I had to walk past a 75-foot tall billboard of her just to get home every day. It was a little bit painful, especially with the constant gasps of "Look at that girl! It's Maya Ride!" from just about every New York passerby, people who normally wouldn't even stop walking if it started raining pianos. Because it's not enough that picture-perfect Maya should turn out to be a model. Oh, no. That wasn't good enough for her. She had to become the best, prettiest, most famous model in history. Most people couldn't tell you a fourth of the models that crowded their magazines, but Maya Ride? She was as common a name as Angelina Jolie or Marilyn Monroe.

Some perverse part of me wanted to burst into tears and throw my arms around her. The more sensible part of me merely said in a tone of mild surprise, as if I'd been expecting her to show up, but not for another hour, "Maya?"

"I need your help," she said. No "hello." No "how are you?" No "What have you been doing with your life while I ran off and got famous?" Just "I need your help." She only paid attention to me when she needed some thing, just like when we were both kids. But I wasn't a kid anymore, and I definitely didn't worship her anymore. I'd had enough.

"Well, go find help somewhere else." I was about to slam the door in her face when she started crying, really crying. She was as good a faker as any, but it was twin thing that I could always tell when she wasn't being honest. These were real, honest-to-goodness tears, running down her face and dripping into my "Welcome!" doormat, along with the water falling in fat droplets from her hair. And that, folks, is when my defender-of-the-weak vibe went off, and I snapped and opened the door wide. She ran headfirst into my arms, sobbing.

"Shh," I murmured into her hair, "don't cry. Don't cry." I helped her to the couch and grabbed a towel from the kitchen. I wrapped it around her shoulders and eased a cup of tea into her trembling hands. Not once did I wonder what she was so upset about. Not once did I care about the muddy tracks her feet had left all over the floor that would be impossible to get out of the carpet. Not once did I give a single damn that she was spilling hot tea all over my couch. All I knew was that my twin sister was hurt and crying, and I needed to protect her. I sat down next to her and toweled her down, wiping all the tea off her pretty clothes and drying her hair and her face of tears.

I felt a twinge of envy when she finally looked up that she could look pretty even when her nose was running and her eyes were swollen and puffy and red, but just handed her a tissue and shoved my jealousy away.

"So, what's wrong?" I finally asked.

"I'm pregnant," she said. She sniffled. Her eyes were wide, and she looked shocked. She laughed shakily, and took a long swig of tea like she was downing alcohol. "I'm pregnant," she repeated, like she couldn't believe it. She giggled, and then she started crying again.

"Maya, that's great!" I started laughing. "I can't believe it. Maya, oh, my gosh. I'm going to be an aunt." She was still crying. I wondered briefly if she had gotten married, and why I hadn't been invited. "Maya." I shook her shoulders softly. "I am so happy for you." She wiped her nose and nodded. "Who's the father?"

She looked stumped for a second, as if she hadn't really given thought to it. "I don't know." She started howling.

"Shh." I rubbed her arms. "Here. Drink your tea." The journalist part of my brain noted that she obviously hadn't gotten married, and the sister part told it to shut up.

"So—nice," she hiccupped. "I've been—so—horrible—to you." She wailed harder.

"It's fine. You're okay. I'm here, okay? You're going to be fine." It was in this moment that I realized how much I'd missed my sister, setting aside anything she'd ever done to me. I'd missed her so much, and an apology from her was much more than I'd hoped for. I needed my sister, and I hugged her.

"Do you have any names you like yet?" I continued, trying to chat to get her to stop crying.

"Names?" she gave me a blank look. "What do you mean, names?"

"You know, like, baby names," I prompted. I wondered if she had cried out some part of her brain.

"Baby—you think I'm going to _keep_ the stupid thing? " she screeched. Maya laughed hard at that one. "After it ruins my career and robs me of my youth?" She gave me an incredulous shake of the head. "Max! You're so—ugh!" She threw her hands in the air.

The sudden rush of affection I'd felt for her drained quickly.

I stood up. "Leave." I was calm, but I wanted to rip her head off. "I though you wanted help buying baby stuff or something. Needed a place to settle down for a while or wanted me to come to the sonogram of whatever. I am _not_ helping you while you get rid of it." I was _this_ close to clawing all of that pretty sunshine hair out of her skull.

"Oh, I'm not getting an abortion, if that's what you mean, " she said airily, as if my thoughts weren't worth anything. "I am a hundred percent pro-life. Calm down, Max. Sit down and hear me out. Sorry for overreacting." It was hard for her to stay calm and squeeze those words out, too. We had the same temper, Maya and I. So I sat and tried to push away any preconceived thoughts and for once not screw up and just make things right.

"I'm not asking for help with an abortion. You know the press would be all over that." I nodded. Sure. "I really do need your help, Max, though."

"With what?"

"I don't need a place to settle down. I have my own apartment, thanks." Her eyes scanned quickly over my living space, and I knew she was dismissing the place I'd worked my butt off to earn as just plain and simple. "You know you're my only sister, and you know I'd do anything for you." She wouldn't, I knew, but I kept my mouth shut. "I just need you to—to—" She hesitated. "I need you to take over something for a while. During my pregnancy."

"Okay," I said. What did she want? Her voice was making me a little worried, and for a moment I wondered if she was going to plunge into another huge Maya-style request—but the big favors she'd demanded from me back in elementary school were starting to pale compared to what she was probably going to say next. I was afraid to hear it.

"What would you say to being a supermodel for the next six months?"

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**Just lying around, pondering what might have pushed James Patterson to name one of his characters Ratchet. R&R and see you next time!**

**~AmiRide****


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